Masquerade of Monsters
by Ariel D
Summary: Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri accept what seems to be a typical job however, their task is complicated by a dangerous encounter with the paranormal. Prequel.
1. Ordinary Job

**Masquerade of Monsters **

By Ariel

_Description: Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri accept what seems to be a typical job; however, their task is complicated by a dangerous encounter with the paranormal. Action/Adventure/Horror. _

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri belong to R. A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. No challenge to the copyright is intended or should be inferred. The following story is just for the amusement of the fans and will never make any profit.

A/N: This piece is meant to take place shortly after "Empty Joys." You do not need to have read any of my other fanfics in order to read this piece. _However, if you have read my series of stories, _The Road to Redemption, _then you can keep in mind that this story takes place directly _before_ the events in "Progression of a Killer." Also, this story is independent of my second trilogy of stories, _Descent into Darkness,_ the first installment of which I hope to begin posting in late December or early January. Thanks goes to Alzadea, whose curiosity about an event I mentioned in "Progression" inspired me to write this story. _

* * *

**Chapter One**

1368 DR

The wan rose sunset refracted off the glistening waters of the Fire River, casting a pale glow upon the shoreline of Raven's Bluff. As nightfall invaded from the east, silence descended upon the bustling docks while the city's seedier underside seeped into the streets, spreading through the alleyways and hovering around the buildings like a yellow fog. From a tavern into the dying light stepped two such mercenaries, who blended into the shadows at the edges of the cobblestone street only to later approach in full view their destination in the city's richest neighborhood.

Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri traded skeptical glances as they climbed the marble staircase of the red brick mansion. "Interesting that Lord D'Arca should have us use the front door," the drow commented.

Entreri frowned. "Indeed." Even as the assassin reached for the massive brass doorknocker, which was crafted into shape of a lion's head, the door jolted open, and a manservant bowed them into the foyer.

To Entreri, the interior of the D'Arca mansion proclaimed to all those who entered that both impressive ancestry and affluence graced the family. Each grand, arching room that the assassin passed seemed to comment upon the loftiness of the people within. Once ushered into the parlor, Entreri noted each detail of the expansive wealth around him, even the tinkling of wine goblets, which echoed off the pink marble floor to recoil against the shadowy ceiling. Diamond-inlaid chandeliers hung overhead, extravagant in their intricate design, yet their light failed to push back the darkness encroaching from the corners. The heavy brocade curtains, emerald in hue, had been pulled back to allow in the fading sunset, but Entreri decided nothing could have pierced the pervasive sense of gloom enfolding the room.

Lord D'Arca, their perspective employer, joined them in the parlor moments later. "Welcome, gentlemen," he said, gesturing for them to sit.

"Thank you, milord." Jarlaxle radiated his diplomatic air.

Entreri simply nodded to the man, then sat tense and uneasy by Jarlaxle on a lushly upholstered loveseat. The drow ran delicate fingers over the crimson fabric, exclaiming over the quality, but to Entreri the cheerful elf seemed sorely at odds with their surroundings.

"Such a fine piece!" Jarlaxle was saying, emitting his uncanny charm.

"I thank you." Lord D'Arca seated himself in the chair across from them. "I had the piece handcrafted specifically to fit this room."

Entreri remained mute, giving only the faintest of nods to the manservant who offered him wine. His warrior's intuition buzzed in the back of his mind, urging him to be on guard.

Jarlaxle, on the other hand, daintily sniffed his wine and sipped it, savoring its flavor before swallowing. "Truly, you have fine taste, good man. This _cabernet sauvignon_ is exquisite!"

Entreri shrugged mentally as he sipped his; the wine was satisfactory. He had never been one to fawn over alcoholic beverages of any kind, but if he had to drink wine, he preferred red wine—the drier the better. At that thought, a whisper of a feminine giggle seemed to sound right in the man's ear. Entreri glanced quickly to the side only to find no one had entered the room. _Odd, I could swear I heard laughter._ Entreri frowned. _It is not like me to be given to glitches of imagination._

The lord, a towering man of nearly seven feet, had smiled graciously at Jarlaxle's compliment. "Again, I thank you. The vintage is my family's own, and we would like to think ourselves accomplished at distilling the very best of wines."

Entreri stared at the lord, sizing him up in a matter of moments: washed-out blue eyes held a touch of apprehension; wide streaks of grey overtook platinum blonde hair; worry lines wrinkled the man's brow until the skin seemed to fold over on itself. Lord D'Arca suffered under some great fear or worry. "How may we be of service?" the assassin asked bluntly. "Noblemen such as yourself do not often call upon the likes of men such as we." Entreri smirked. "Or, rather, not so openly as you have."

Jarlaxle shot the assassin an irritated glance.

D'Arca did not seem offended, however; he simply slumped in his chair. "Yes . . . well, I have heard from sources I trust of the quality of your work. And as for my reasons . . . it's a long story—too long to tell and unnecessary for your purposes should you choose to accept this job. Suffice it to say that my great-great-grandfather and his brother had a violent disagreement over their inheritance, with the brother thinking he should inherit this estate instead of my great-great-grandfather. The result has been a multi-generational feud. I have tried many times, as have others, to settle this disagreement, although a truce acceptable to both sides has not been reached."

The man placed his wine goblet on the table beside him and ran both hands over his face. "My wife and I were only graced with a single child: a beautiful daughter, Naomi. It is of great importance that she marry one of her cousins, Joseph, in order to keep the estate out of the hands of our tormentors. Unfortunately, this fact has resulted in several attempts on both Naomi's and Joseph's lives." D'Arca shook his head. "I have reason to believe that my distant cousins have hired an accomplished assassin to kill my daughter, and I feel the best course of action is to add . . . an extra, unusual addition to my daughter's defenders for the time being."

"You wish to hire us as bodyguards?" Entreri paraphrased.

D'Arca sighed, and it was a pitiful sigh, indeed. "Yes, and also to kill the assassin as a message to them that I will not be defeated or intimidated regardless of the methods they use."

_Except that you already are intimidated,_ Entreri thought.

"Will you accept?" the lord asked. "I offer ten thousand gold for my daughter's safety and for the head of the assassin."

The mercenaries traded glances. "Certainly," Jarlaxle answered.

Lord D'Arca visibly relaxed. "Thank Mystra. I will fetch my daughter. You must begin your job immediately." He stood and strode from the room, his demeanor one of great urgency.

"I do not like this," Entreri said the instant the man left hearing-range. "We should have simply returned to Damara."

Jarlaxle turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you disapprove, my friend?" He grinned. "I have noticed you've been quite tense since we entered this fine mansion—or rather, I should say, more tense than usual."

Entreri scowled at him. "I _sense_ something about this place."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Indeed, there does seem to be a faint aura of misery or gloom shrouding this home, but I am not convinced it is anything we cannot handle."

Entreri frowned and began to reply, but Lord D'Arca swept back into the room with a young lady in tow. Jarlaxle quickly stood, Entreri following suit.

"Gentlemen," D'Arca said, waving his hand toward the young woman, "this is my daughter, Naomi."

A tall, graceful woman approximately eighteen years of age stepped forward and curtsied to Jarlaxle and Entreri. "A pleasure to meet you," she said in a quiet voice, not making eye contact with the men. Her gown, which was pink silk with a design of lilies sewn about the neck and hem, accented the rosy undertone of her complexion and flattered the strawberry blonde curls which fell over her shoulders.

Jarlaxle's one uncovered eye had gone wide with obvious appreciation of the woman's beauty, and Entreri swallowed a snort as he considered discretely stepping on the elf's foot in order to snap him out of it. "The pleasure is ours," the assassin managed to say in a perfectly even voice, and removing his hat, he bowed deeply to the lady.

"Indeed," Jarlaxle said, apparently realizing he was staring, and he swept off his plumed hat as he bowed just as deeply.

Naomi kept her eyes trained on the floor, but a faint flush rose to her cheeks. Fortunately, her father was too distracted to notice any of the exchange. "We must hurry," the man said, a note of sadness in his voice as he turned away. "Please, follow me. I've received a report that they are already on the move."

As D'Arca and Naomi rushed from the room, Entreri turned to Jarlaxle and whispered, "'They?' 'On the move?' Just how much have we not been told?"

The drow mercenary frowned, then shrugged, and they followed the man and his daughter.

* * *

"The basement?" Entreri asked, torch in hand as he followed Jarlaxle down the narrow flight of stairs which D'Arca had claimed led to a secret level beneath the mansion. The lord had locked the hidden door behind them and told them he'd return for them as soon as it was safe. 

"It's not so bad as you might think," Naomi answered from behind him. "The basement is a fully furnished floor, and no expense was spared at decorating it to match the rest of our abode."

Entreri snorted quietly, but he relaxed ever so slightly as he saw the glow of a fire ahead of them. As the mercenaries reached the bottom of the staircase and fanned out into the room, they realized Naomi had not exaggerated. A large sitting room greeted them, and a lively fire burned in the fireplace. Elaborately woven rugs, which Entreri recognized as Calishite in origin, covered the expanse of pink marble floors. Delicate cherry wood chairs and tables were arranged tastefully to accent a cerulean velvet loveseat, and ivory statues lined the walls, all of them nudes arranged in graceful poses.

"Such fine taste your family has, milady," Jarlaxle commented.

Naomi inclined her head. "My thanks, good sir. But would you be ever so kind as to tell me your names? My father was in such a rush he forgot to properly introduce us."

Jarlaxle blinked. "Why, you are correct!" The mercenary removed his hat and bowed once more. "I am Jarlaxle, milady, and—"

Entreri interrupted the elf before he could continue. "And I am Artemis Entreri." He tipped his hat to her.

Naomi looked at them fully this time, measuring them up as thoroughly as any man would. Apparently pleased with what she found, she glanced down at her hands, which she'd folded before her. "It truly is a pleasure to meet you. I feel sure you will keep me safe from whatever foul creature my distant cousins have sent to kill me."

Entreri smirked but said nothing.

Jarlaxle walked up to her and took her arm. "Indeed we will, milady." He guided her over toward the loveseat. "Why do you not rest while we canvas the area?"

Entreri turned his gaze toward the ceiling, swallowing the groan that threatened to push past his lips. _Lecher! Lord D'Arca should have sent a chaperone._ The assassin paused suddenly, caught by the thought. _Why indeed did he trust two complete strangers alone in a basement with his daughter?_ A third thought struck him. _Given Jarlaxle's disposition, maybe I am unwittingly the chaperone._

But Naomi had grasped Jarlaxle's arm with both hands. "Oh, do not leave me alone! Can your friend not search the basement alone? I assure you there is nothing down here but dust bunnies anyway, for that is the whole reason we are being hidden here."

Entreri couldn't refrain from snickering this time. The lady needed to work upon her acting skills; her flirting was a bit heavy-handed.

Jarlaxle's grin seemed to light the entire room. "Very well. I will not leave you alone." They sat upon the loveseat, their thighs touching in their closeness.

"Yes, I do believe I will secure the area," Entreri said sarcastically. However, as he turned to leave, he dismissed his irritation since it was unlikely that canvassing the basement would prove difficult. Still, his warrior's sense burned, and the shadows dancing along the ceiling seemed to slither from corner to corner. Entreri stopped and glanced back over his shoulder at the drow and the lady grinning at each other, and then he ran his gaze over the statues, corners, and pastoral-themed oil paintings. Nothing. The assassin headed down the nearest corridor, but he could not shake the feeling that the entire room behind him somehow teemed with unseen life.

* * *

_A/N: Of course, I must acknowledge the allusion in the first paragraph to T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," one of my favorite poems. Thank you in advance to any who review this piece._


	2. Orbs and Voices

**Chapter Two**

The flames which quavered in the fireplace cast a faint glow upon Jarlaxle as he smiled at Naomi and held her hand. After Entreri had left the room, a charming blush had seeped into Naomi's cheeks, and when Jarlaxle had clasped her hand, she had trained her gaze upon her lap, apparently unwilling to meet his gaze. The elf chuckled and reached out one finger, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look into his one uncovered eye. "Do not be so shy, milady," he teased her.

Naomi grinned at him, faint dimples showing as she did. "It is only that . . . well, it is a tad improper for us to be here alone—"

"Nonsense," the elf said gently, secretly amused by her façade of shyness but willing to make the most of it.

"And I have never before met a drow." She glanced away momentarily. "I have heard . . . terrible rumors, I must admit."

"Those rumors are often true, I'm afraid, but they do not include me," Jarlaxle replied in his most soothing voice.

Naomi blushed again, reaching out one finger to play with the top button of the elf's fine linen shirt. "You would say that, however."

"Most true." Jarlaxle captured the lady's hand and kissed her palm. "But I speak truthfully, I promise you." Naomi met the drow's gaze again, and Jarlaxle found himself fascinated by the stunning jade hue of her eyes.

"I'm afraid I have little defense against your charms," she said quietly, "for you are . . . finely handsome."

Jarlaxle found that the corners of his mouth ached from his sustained smile. His gaze traced down the contours of her throat, and he could almost taste her skin upon his lips. Then he noticed the amethyst pendent inlaid in platinum which rested at the dip of her throat. "What a beautiful necklace!"

Naomi absently touched the piece with her fingertips. "Thank you. It is a family heirloom passed on to me by my mother before she died. I treasure it more than any other jewel I own."

"And rightly so," Jarlaxle said, his gaze now tracing back up the graceful curve of Naomi's throat. Her blush deepened to crimson, racing down from her cheeks to stain her neck. Jarlaxle found himself leaning forward, but a cool brush against the back of his neck stopped him short. The elf glanced about the room sharply, his innate ability to sense magic burning within him so powerfully that his sinuses ached.

"What is it?" Naomi asked, her tone alarmed.

Jarlaxle scanned the room but sensed nothing further. "Nothing, my dear." He didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

* * *

Torch in hand, Entreri stalked silently up the corridor, pausing to check each recess and door he passed. So far, he'd merely discovered urns, vases, and a fancy metal box in the recesses, and behind the doors, he'd found only a dusty study, small library, and a few bedrooms. However, when he opened the final doorway on the left side of the hallway and stepped into the bedroom beyond, he noticed a drastic temperature drop from the hallway to the bedroom. A distinct chill wove itself around his spine like ivy upon a lamppost, but he shrugged it off and searched the room. As he passed by the bed, a draft of air brushed his shoulder. 

"Artemis," a feminine voice whispered into his ear.

Entreri whirled around, dagger in hand, only to find nothing. The assassin frowned; this was not to his liking. Turning back, he was met with the sight of a bluish orb flying a lazy spiral path before him. The orb floated out of the door, and with a mixed feeling of intrigue and foreboding, Entreri followed. Was the orb connected to the voice? Entreri vaguely recalled overhearing some guild wizard, perhaps LaValle, once suggesting that orbs were not spirits, but he felt there had to be at least some faint connection between the orb and the bodiless voice.

The blue ball was now floating across the hallway toward the far wall. Entreri approached the light cautiously, but it passed through the wall before he could reach it. The assassin felt a compelling urge to follow the orb, but how was he to do that . . . unless, of course, there was a hidden door?

The assassin's scowl had reached epic proportions, but he eased up to the wall and ran sensitive fingertips over the dark cherry wood. A moment's search located the door, and with a smirk, the smug man placed his ear against the wood and listened for any further noises. Hearing nothing, he checked the door for traps, and when he found none, he slipped the door open and slid inside.

Nothing more sinister than a staircase and a faint sulfuric odor greeted him. The room held only the staircase, and a single door stood ajar at the bottom of the stairs. Both suspicious and curious, Entreri silently padded down the stairs and peeked inside the room, which was mostly cast in shadows. A quick search revealed no traps here either, so he entered the room for a closer look. As soon as he stepped into the room, the sulfuric odor burned his nose, but the sight before him rendered the scent insignificant. The assassin stopped suddenly, using all his willpower to resist the urge to turn and leave again as an overwhelming shroud of evil seemed to drape itself over him.

The room was small, perhaps sixteen by sixteen feet, with two rows of petrified benches running up the center of the space. A jade statue stood at the end, its hands clearly holding a heart, but its face and body were chipped and mold-covered to the point that Entreri couldn't tell if it were meant to be male or female. Before the figure stood an altar, its sides blood-covered; a rusted ceremonial dagger, two melted black candles, and runes decorated the top.

More disturbing, however, were the two human-sized, wrought-iron cages which hung on either side of altar and the molded-over wall carvings depicting human sacrifice and hearts being cut from the chests of children. The pervasive sense of evil seemed to bloom, to become so tangible that Entreri tasted a coppery-metallic tang in his mouth and tiny shivers like insect-feet threatened to crawl up his arms.

It was time to leave.

Entreri turned, but even before he could reach the doorway, his torch extinguished just as surely as though some force had snuffed it out. Although the assassin did not allow himself any fear, he reacted quickly, tossing away the spent torch and racing up the stairs.

It was not until he was halfway back to the sitting room that Entreri realized he'd been able to see in the utter darkness. He hadn't been able to see far ahead, perhaps ten feet, but even ten feet was remarkable for a human surrounded by pitch-blackness.

_The shade's life-force?_ he wondered to himself, but dismissed the thought as he rounded the corner to the sitting room. There were more important things to address at the moment.

Entreri's approach to the sitting room had, of course, been utterly silent despite the fact he entered in a dead run, so the drow and the lady who were wrapped in each other's arms kissing deeply were somewhat shocked to be so suddenly intruded upon.

"My apologies on interrupting your mutual admiration." Entreri's voice dripped with sarcasm. "But during my canvassing, I seem to have found something I should call to your attention."

The couple stared at him wide-eyed. Naomi's entire face had turned a fine shade of scarlet, and although Jarlaxle's complexion didn't lend itself to showing a blush, the elf seemed a touch abashed.

Entreri, however, was mentally back in the dark chamber reviewing what he'd seen, so he didn't notice. Child sacrifice? Did the worshippers of this unknown deity sacrifice their own children . . .? He turned a glare upon Naomi. "Just what god did your ancestors worship!"

Naomi looked both taken aback and confused by the question. "What do you mean? My family has always worshipped Mystra."

"I'm unsure of that given what I found."

Naomi frowned. "Please, show me of what you speak."

Once Entreri had procured a new torch, Naomi and Jarlaxle followed him to the hidden chamber.

"Great goddess," Naomi whispered, shivering as she wandered about the room and studied its horrors. Jarlaxle did not look any more comfortable in such surroundings than Naomi, and Entreri wondered if the drow were comparing the scene upon the walls to things he'd seen in Menzoberranzan.

In fact, Jarlaxle was doing just that. The elf frowned at the scene, his eyes riveted to the horror depicted on the faces of the dying children. _I wonder if there were specific children chosen for their purposes,_ he thought, staring at the image. _Only male children, perhaps, or only female ones? The first-born . . . or third-born?_ Jarlaxle frowned, momentarily disgusted before he could bring himself under control. He turned toward Naomi and started to speak, but he caught Entreri watching him closely. The assassin glanced away as their eyes met, but for a second Jarlaxle thought he saw a touch of empathy—and perhaps a touch of curiosity—on the man's face. _Empathy? Surely not! My imagination must be teasing me now._

Jarlaxle shook his head, deciding to pursue the thoughts at a later time, then spoke. "It would seem there are a few things about your family or ancestors about which you have not been informed, milady."

Naomi turned toward the drow, and the haunted look in her eyes made her seem suddenly weary. "It would seem . . . there are darker things than a bloody feud in my family, yes." She sighed and stared at the ground. "But . . . but I could almost see turning to an evil religion if I could only get all the unnecessary bloodshed to stop." Her voice had dropped nearly to a whisper. "Is it evil to turn to evil in order to stop evil?"

Jarlaxle once again glanced at Entreri, although he turned back to Naomi before replying. "Yes, my dear, it is. When surrounded by evil, it may be difficult to find anything other than evil means for surviving, but there is a difference between carefully negotiating only what is necessary to survive and pursuing a dark path or acting without discernment."

Naomi frowned at him in obvious confusion.

Jarlaxle smiled. "What I am saying is that although you are surrounded by bloodshed and terror, all you would accomplish by pursuing a dark method of ending the feud is further bloodshed and terror. I encourage you—and your father—to actively and aggressively work to end your problem, but I also encourage you to not dismiss a certain brand of diplomacy." He winked at her. "Always think in terms of mutual benefit, and you will find that many good things will come to you."

From behind him, Jarlaxle heard Entreri snort, but Naomi smiled at him. "Mutual benefit?" she echoed, apparently trying out the phrase and finding it to her liking.

"Oh, wonderful," Entreri quipped, "you've created a monster."

Jarlaxle started to chuckle, but the darkness of the room seemed suddenly to bend down upon him. The mercenary may have not been a good elf, but the pervasive sense of evil that hung in the air was so tangible it felt as though he were breathing thick, black liquid. Jarlaxle had the sudden, overwhelming sense of the type of demonic aura Lolth possessed. A compulsive shiver raced up and outward from his spine like the charge of a million tiny spiders. Entreri flashed him a look of concern, and Jarlaxle grabbed his arm. "I sense an evil presence here! We must leave this room immediately!"

Neither Naomi nor Entreri seemed to be in the mood to argue with him, and the three quickly made their way back to the warmth and light of the sitting room. Yet as he entered the room, Jarlaxle did not find the scene comforting. Instead, the fire seemed to flutter as though threatening to extinguish, and the pink marble and ivory statues seemed sterile and cold. Something was down there with them—a presence much more dangerous than the purported assassin.

Jarlaxle drew Naomi down onto the loveseat again and held her hand, but in truth he didn't feel he had much comfort to offer. The situation was much more complicated than he'd originally thought, and he still couldn't shake the sense of foreboding evil. Something malevolent, something magical, was awake in the basement of this mansion and seemed to be reaching toward him. It coaxed terrifying memories from him, memories he normally kept buried.

Jarlaxle glanced over his shoulder at Entreri, who stood behind the sofa; the man was positioned just behind the elf's right shoulder, his hands resting easily on the hilts of his sword and dagger. The assassin was watching Jarlaxle carefully; the look on the man's face was one the elf couldn't quite place. It was almost as though Entreri sensed his mood. When Jarlaxle turned toward him, however, Entreri's expression returned to its perpetual scowl. Still, the man radiated pure confidence and . . . protectiveness? Was his friend actually feeling protective of him?

Jarlaxle frowned, sure that his healthy imagination might have finally run off with him. With a shake of his head, the drow turned back to face the room, and when he did, he felt his own confidence reassert itself. After all, he had more tricks stored in various places about his clothes than either Artemis Entreri or even Kimmuriel could ever hope to guess or keep track of.

And added to that was the fact he had a highly talented and grimly determined assassin standing at his shoulder. Entreri's cunning and skill had been two of the factors which had caused Jarlaxle to choose him as a traveling companion.

But also there was now that odd look of Entreri's. Jarlaxle had seen it before, he thought, during their escape from the crystal tower, and reflecting on it brought forth a warm emotion he didn't recognize. Could it actually be . . .?

A hiss turned everyone's attention toward the entrance to the hallway, where a ghastly feminine form had suddenly appeared. Her grey, decaying skin stretched tight across her skull, and the cartilage of her nose had long ago disintegrated. Tiny crimson points glowed in her empty eye sockets; a few remaining clumps of straw-like strawberry blonde hair stuck out stiffly from her head. When Jarlaxle and Naomi jumped to their feet in alarm, she hissed at them again, then glided into the room, opening her mouth in an unholy shriek like a strangled coyote's howl. The aura of evil emanating from the creature enfolded Jarlaxle like a shroud of ice which tried to freeze and suffocate him. He fought against that aura, tried to shake off the sense of paralysis that threatened him, and in the edges of his vision he could see Entreri and Naomi trying to do the same.

_Dear gods,_ Jarlaxle thought, biting down hard on his rising panic.

It was a lich.


	3. Mara

**Chapter Three**

Entreri struggled against the lich's aura with the very heart of his willpower, instinctively pouring decades of refined self-discipline into defeating the invasive feeling. No matter how great the horror his father and uncle had rained upon him, Entreri had never been one to succumb to terror, had instead been one to fight back with disgust, anger, or even desperation. But fear he had not allowed himself, and from the core of his being, he pushed away the panic now. After several moments, the assassin felt himself breath easier, as though someone had been crushing his chest but had suddenly stopped.

"So you are the pathetic fools who violated my private sanctuary," the lich was saying, flakes of dried skin dropping from her receded lips. She floated before them, fingering the golden pommel of the rapier which hung at her side. Truly, the creature was sight to behold: a maroon velvet gown hung in tatters from her skeletal frame, and an indigo wizard's robe rotted about her shoulders.

"Why do you not kiss her, Jarlaxle?" Entreri quipped, relieved to hear his voice come out steady. "She's beautiful."

The drow managed to shoot him an acidic look.

The lich had looked past the mercenaries to the young woman who had retreated to cower by a statue. "So you are the summation of my progeny. I believe I am insulted."

"Mara?" Naomi whispered. "You are Mara!"

"Mara?" Entreri asked without turning around.

"My great-great-grandmother," Naomi said, her voice still quivering. "I had heard that her ghost haunted the deepest level of our home, but I had never imagined that—that—"

"What have they done to make the once great women of this family so weak?" the lich hissed. "Every woman born to my bloodline should have trained to be a formidable wizard. But you—you are nothing!"

"We must destroy the lich's phylactery," Jarlaxle whispered in drow to Entreri as Mara spoke. "It's most likely a metal box. It's the only way we can destroy her."

Mara's attention snapped back to Jarlaxle as he spoke. "What are you saying, lovely little drow?" Her smiled widened, showing an expanse of blackened, rotting teeth. "Truly, I have never seen such a petite, delicate elf. Surely I could crumble you like brittle parchment."

Beside Jarlaxle, Entreri narrowed his eyes and stiffened, drawing his sword but keeping his gauntlet hand free. The drow followed suit, preparing to draw one of his many wands.

"Please be careful!" Naomi called from behind the men.

Mara laughed and whispered a few arcane syllables as she made tiny circles with two of her fingers; suddenly, it seemed that four Maras rushed the mercenaries, each brandishing a rapier. Entreri charged forward, drawing his dagger as well and meeting the attacks of the first two Maras, which struck from the right. Jarlaxle quickly dropped two daggers from his bracer, whispering the words necessary to elongate them into swords, and met the attacks of the remaining two Maras, who charged him from the left.

Entreri sliced through both of his Maras easily, and as the illusions disappeared, he instantly knew what that portended. He whirled toward Jarlaxle in time to see two Maras slashing at Jarlaxle with their rapiers, while simultaneously muttering under their breath and making a circle with their free wrists. Jarlaxle parried both rapiers, but even as the final illusionary Mara vanished, the real lich pointed her finger at Jarlaxle, projecting a ray of freezing air and ice at his face and chest.

Entreri yelled and jumped forward even as the elf tried to duck, but even though the assassin pushed Jarlaxle aside, causing the ray to miss his vital areas, the damaging cold still nipped their right shoulders. Since the injury was minor, both mercenaries immediately regained their footing, but the cackling lich had drawn a gnarled ebony wand and pointed it at the men.

"What hope do you have, fools, against the likes of one such as I?" She flicked the wand at them, and black beam of crackling energy shot toward the mercenaries.

Jarlaxle and Entreri dived to either side, tucking themselves into rolls. However, as he regained his feet, the assassin knew something was wrong; he felt as though half of his life-force had been drained from his body. He shook off the effect as best he could, but his sword seemed heavier in his left hand. It was like being the victim of his own dagger.

Across from him, Jarlaxle shook himself in a mildly dog-like fashion, apparently trying to resist the spell, then drew a wand of his own, releasing a spray of pulsing blue missiles at the lich. "Find that phylactery!" the elf yelled to Entreri as the lich batted aside the missiles. "I will endeavor to keep her occupied!"

"Yes," Naomi called from her position by the statue. "It holds her life-force!"

Entreri started down the corridor, remembering that one of the recesses had indeed held a table with a metal box on top. The lich, however, screeched in rage and followed him. Entreri heard Jarlaxle's yell of warning, but a presence was suddenly, impossibly at his right shoulder before he could react. A furious burning like a lightning bolt erupted in his already-injured shoulder as the lich's fingers touched him, and he cried out, feeling more of his strength drain from him. Then he heard a harsh thumping noise, and he glanced back in time to see the lich be captured against the wall by a large, sticky web.

_Jarlaxle will not be able to stop her for long,_ Entreri thought, holding in his pain and rushing for the recess in question. Reaching the table with the metal box, the assassin raised his left arm high over his head and slashed Charon's Claw down upon the metal box. A few sparks and metallic chips flew, but that was it. Entreri cursed profoundly and tried again.

Jarlaxle saw Entreri's failed attempts from the corner of his vision, but he didn't have much chance to react, for Mara tore free of his web. Instantly, the lich pulled a small glass cone from inside her robe, aiming it at Jarlaxle as she cast her spell, and the elf dived to the side as a cone-shaped burst of blue ice sprayed in his direction. Jarlaxle felt the ice strike the edge of his boot heel, felt the coldness seep into his ankle, and he stomped his foot hard, resisting the spell with all of his willpower.

Behind Jarlaxle, Naomi suddenly reached up and yanked the amethyst amulet off her neck, breaking the chain. Immediately, the drow felt the presence of a second magical aura, and Naomi quickly pulled a lodestone and a pinch of dust from her bodice, rushing through arcane words and intricate finger movements as she did. Naomi pointed her finger toward Mara, and a thin, green ray sprang forth. The arrogant lich, consumed in its battle with Jarlaxle, did not bother itself to acknowledge the young woman; the mercenary, however, threw himself at the floor at the last instant. Mara screamed as the ray hit her chest, disintegrating her sternum first before starting toward her ribs; however, the lich quickly worked through the motions of a spell, trying to defeat the magic.

From his position down the hallway, Entreri glanced toward the spectacle only briefly, then hefted his demonic sword with both hands, striking down on the metallic box with every ounce of his remaining strength. The fine sword cut through the metal at last, severing the box and the strips of parchment within it.

The disintegrating effect upon Mara seemed to accelerate, racing down her torso and arms and upward toward her skull, stealing the scream of rage from her throat and reducing her to ashes. The ebony wand and gold-plated rapier, the only two remnants of the evil creature, clattered to the floor. Naomi rushed forward and snatched up the wand, safely stowing it in her bodice.

Jarlaxle stood and stiffly bowed to Naomi, keeping a wary eye upon the lady. "You would seem to be something more than your appearance would suggest, milady. I am unsure you needed anyone's protection. Likewise, it would also seem that you have long since answered your own question concerning what type of means you would use to solve your family's problems."

Naomi smiled snidely. "I appreciate your protection and even your advice, dear sir, but you are quite correct. I must now demand that you tell no one of what you have witnessed. My father will compensate you, just as surely as he will have you silenced should you fail to agree to this final term of our agreement."

Jarlaxle decided it best to play along and inclined his head once more. "Of course, milady." He turned then and made his way to Entreri, who sat collapsed against the wall by the destroyed box. Jarlaxle carefully knelt by the assassin and removed his healing orb from a pouch, preparing to heal the man.

"Get me the hells away from here as quickly as you can," Entreri growled under his breath. "I never wish to lay eyes upon this family or their twisted magic ever again."

Jarlaxle smiled and held up his orb. "Of course, my friend. I could not agree more." He concentrated on the magical device, whispering the words necessary to heal his companion. When he finished, he smiled wryly and patted Entreri. However, the look on the assassin's face caused the drow to pause. Entreri regarded him with that odd look again. Was it . . . trust? Or . . .? There seemed to be a subtext passing between them, a hidden current involving protection or safety or trust. But which was it, and what did it mean?

Jarlaxle's smile turned genuine. "Shall we leave this place?"

Entreri pushed himself to his feet. "Yes. But make sure to get our damn gold first. I did not just face such evil for nothing."

"You could take the rapier," Naomi suggested, her demeanor still snide and amused.

Entreri eyed the weapon with distaste. "I already have a superior weapon, and I want nothing more distinguishable than gold coins to remind me of this experience."

Naomi snickered. "As you wish." She scooped up both her amulet and the rapier.

"There was no assassin," Entreri accused. "But you did know the lich was down here, as did your father. He hired us to make sure the lich did not kill you, but he meant for you to face the creature."

Naomi grinned, but her nastiness was replaced by a resigned, if wrathful, determination. "Yes, quite right. My mother had trained me in the arcane arts almost since my birth, but we needed some final advantage over our enemies." She clenched her fists in anger. "With Mara's wand, I can end this wasteful, petty feud forever." She flung her curls over her shoulder and turned, heading back toward the staircase.

Jarlaxle and Entreri traded glances. "Pawns in a greater game," the assassin whispered, and he smirked at the frown that came to the elf's face. Still, Entreri admitted to himself, they might have been greater pawns than they would ever realize, for the assassin was unsure that the bodiless, whispering voice and the lich had been the same entity.

Naomi turned back toward the mercenaries when she reached the bottom stair. "Thank you for your services, dear gentlemen," she murmured, the mask of the dutiful, shy daughter firmly back in place.

"A masquerade and a monster," Entreri said, although it was unclear from his tone how the comment should be taken. Jarlaxle squeezed Entreri's arm, half in warning and half in empathy, but after a stiff pause, Naomi continued up the staircase.

_Do you have any trick that can get us far away from here?_ the irritated assassin signaled roughly in drow hand code behind the woman's back. _If not, let's find a wizard and have ourselves teleported._

Jarlaxle smiled at the assassin. _We will find a way, my friend,_ he signaled back.

Entreri nodded, and they climbed the remainder of stairs side-by-side in companionable, if grim, silence.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to my beta readers—my fiancé and darkhelmet—and to my reviewers: Semdai, SilverWolf, Nina, Alzadea, Lessiehanamoray, darkhelmet, and the anonymous one. Thanks to Kris, euphorbic (I've used your suggestion on Jarlaxle and Naomi), and mark strickler as well. Hopefully I'll be posting a new story to LE in early January. _The story will pick up after where "Face of a God" leaves off (for those of you who've read my other stuff on LE and know what that means). _

"Masquerade of Monsters" was finished on Nov. 17, 2004.


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